


Sunshine and Flowers

by mmmuse



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Poldark's passing spurs Ross to make up for an oversight. A fluffy ficlet for my friend, xxSparksxx.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshine and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxSparksxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/gifts).



> Thank you for your friendship, Sparks -- hope this brightens your day as Demelza brightens Ross's.

“She curtseyed to me!”

“Get used to it,” Ross said, glancing absently over his shoulder. His wife looked shocked beyond belief by the gesture of respect young Jinny Carter extended to her before they’d left the small cottage.

Demelza shook her head, eyes staring out of the window. “No, I…I never will.” 

“I must go visit my uncle,” he said, flipping through correspondence – bills from suppliers, he thought with a twist of concern. He knew he must deal with them soon, but they would keep.

He took another look at Demelza and felt a moment of sympathy for her. She’d had a thorough reminder of her new status as mistress of Nampara in the space of a single morning, first at the mine with Henshawe, only to be reprimanded minutes later for charging and leaping upon Jud. True, the man was in the wrong for having the nerve to steal the pie she’d risen early to finish before they’d left for the mine. But Ross simply could not have his wife tangling in the dirt with one of their servants!

The curtsey from Jinny was more evidence of his wife’s change in status and it was clear it had disoriented her. Was it time for the final one? No time like the present to find out. “Perhaps it is time for you to come with me,” he suggested.

She froze momentarily, brushing her hands down the skirt of her maroon day dress. “No… no-no, I couldn’t.” Her fingers plucked at the fabric and she flicked her gaze at him. “T-there are…calves to be meated…and pastries to be make.”

“From tomorrow that excuse won’t avail you,” he said as she scurried from the room into the kitchen. He set the notes down. He hadn’t missed the quick, uncomfortable glance she’d made at her gown. It was the one she’d worn when they married, a perfectly serviceable frock, and _that_ was the problem. They’d been married for a month and the poor girl didn’t have a proper gown, suitable for visiting his family or welcoming visitors in the house.

Ross frowned at himself. It was up to him to provide for her. Did he expect her to magick such a thing out of thin air? She needed fabric, if not a trip into town to have a dress made, but had he the coin to do it? He sighed, looked at the invoices, and made his decision. He turned to saddle his horse.

 

Late that night, well after dark, Ross returned to the Nampara courtyard. He was heartsick, having witnessed the death of his uncle hours earlier. The household at Trenwith was in chaos, with Francis holed up in the study and the women in varying stages of grief. But what had troubled him the most were his uncle’s final words to him: the loss of faith he’d had in his own son, passing the mantle of familial responsibility onto his nephew’s shoulders. Did Charles not realize the untenable position it would place him in? With Francis and, God help him, Elizabeth? He cared for Demelza, certainly, and she’d more than been the distraction he’d thought she’d be when he first proposed marriage. But there still remained this…something within him for Elizabeth, and it shamed him to admit it.

It was this shame that drove him to nearly ride Darkie into the dust to reach Truro in time. He searched through bolt after bolt of fabrics until he found it. The one that sang to him of the sunlight and flowers, the joy that made up Demelza for him, joy he desperately needed in that moment of grief and pain.

He held the package close as he climbed the stairs to their bedchamber, laying it down on the desk near the window. He stripped off his clothes and slipped under the bedclothes, naked and yearning for consolation. A kiss, a caress and she was with him, welcoming him with her arms, her mouth and her body, soothing his troubled soul.

~*~*~*~*~

Demelza woke alone, as the sun streaked across the floor of the bedchamber, later than was her custom. _And for good reason_ , she thought to herself as she stretched, the muscles of her inner thighs complaining with the movement. He’d been late in returning, desperate for her for reasons unknown until after, when he told her of the news. She’d held him close, his head nestled between her breasts until he’d fallen into a fitful sleep. Once again, later in the night, she woke to find him seeking her in his slumber and she’d acquiesced, covering him to bring him to his ease, and finding her own in the doing.

She rolled over, to press her nose against his pillow, to breathe in the scent of him when she noticed a paper wrapped package resting against it. She sat up, touching the twine with her finger before pulling it onto her lap, frowning at the weight of it. She pulled free the string, folded back the wrappings and smiled, running her hand along the beautiful fabric within. A scrap of paper fell out of folds, and she recognized his strong hand in the writing:

> A dress of sunshine and flowers I would have you make. Ross

And so she would.


End file.
